


Put me on the Floor (this is the part where you leave)

by kuro49



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, M/M, POV Second Person, ghost!Stacker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:37:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half a step behind and to the right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put me on the Floor (this is the part where you leave)

**Author's Note:**

> i love ghost fics, and sad ghost hot dads tops that cake.
> 
> if this makes any sense at all, holler at me because this is mostly just self-prescribed therapy to write my frustrations out of my system.

You want to stay with him.

You want to say to him.

And there are many things, half a step behind and to the right, halfway across the world and still in line. Like there is something akin to symbolism, you are always going to be the second.

You greet him like an old friend when you see him again.

 

He dies before you.

He comes back before you.

And you don’t think there is a thing right about this. But you are also hollow and sad and feeling that this is about it for you. Coping has never been a strength of yours even though there is something in a name.

Hercules is a name.

He is not you.

You do not have a prophecy. (Hercules is a hero. You are far from that. Hercules is a Roman mythology. And you repeat, in your head that you cannot be him.) Yet, here you are, having buried your wife and your child.

 

He sighs a deep sigh, and if he sings at all, he sings a sad song.

He sits at the end of your bed, and if he talks at all, he could talk you out of anything.

You don’t give him the personal space you gave him, for years, when he is living. It is missed opportunities, and for a man who has only ever taught his son one thing, you are no good at taking your own advice.

There are probably versions of you that are happy.

There are probably versions of you that do not take his place.

You can only clench the sheets in your fist when you bite back every memory that you have of him.

 

When your mouth collides with his.

When your hand lands over his heart.

He sucks in a breath even if his chest does not rise beneath your palm. You are not looking for it to stop hurting. There are knife wounds scored into these bones of yours. You’ve nursed this wound for so long, licked at it for far too long. You can barely see the pool of red you stand in.

You take that shot, now.

 

You are uncertain.

He is an uncertainty.

You don’t intend to make contact but it seems like he is still willing to have you. You tilt your head, you taste salt on your tongue. Here, you think you can make him that same promise. If you have the courage. If you have much of anything now.

Where the two of you are waiting by the sea, worn down by the crashing waves like rocks.

It’ll be another thousand years before you’re truly gone.

 

XXX Kuro


End file.
